


push to the limit

by gortysproject



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: 5+1 Format, Every Chapter Has An Alan Rodi Soundtrack Song That Relates To The Mood Of The Chapter, From 2011-Present, Lotta Banter, M/M, Mentions of Death, Obscene References To Politics, Suggestive Sexual Content, The Rumour Come Out: Does Daniel Jacobi Is Gay?, They're Cheesy But Also I Love This Style So Shh, Yes It Includes Jacobi's Bomb Story Where Kepler Locks The Door, i need to stop using caps in tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 02:49:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9637565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gortysproject/pseuds/gortysproject
Summary: five times kepler asks too much of jacobi, and one time jacobi can't pull through for him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> a 5+1 story that goes from jacobi's first mission with kepler to his last.  
> as it says in the tags, each chapter has a song from the wolf 359 soundtrack attributed to it. alan rodi is a musical genius.

_Note: the music for this chapter is Some Dudes Arguing Over Something Dramatic Like A Cliff (Drowning In Space)._

 

**Part 1 – 2011**

“You know,” Jacobi mutters, slightly out of breath, “I’m pretty sure we’ve just gone down enough flights of stairs to be _juuuust_ about approaching the entrance to Hell itself.”

A huffed laugh responds to him through his earpiece. “Oh, Mr Jacobi,” the voice croons smugly. “If you thought that was bad, you’ll be begging for eternal damnation by the time you’ve made it back _up_.” Annoyingly, ridiculously, yet predictably, Major Kepler sounds about as comfortable as if he’d just gotten out of bed. Jacobi hates him in that moment.

Both hands clinging to his pistol, hands unusually steady, Jacobi glances around every corner before proceeding. There’s a mild comfort in knowing he came in through the underground secret laboratory’s version of a back door, but knowing Kepler could be ambushed instead provides little reassurance.

As far as first missions go, being paired up to work with your highly-esteemed boss – at _his_ suggestion, despite the eyebrows it raised – is far from a good way to ease Jacobi into the new job. He’s been trained; his weapon accuracy is passable, his reflexes decent, and his instincts conservative enough to avoid recklessness but bold enough to avoid cowardice. None of that says what he’ll be like in the field.

Kepler’s voice crackles to life in his ear again. To his credit, Jacobi does not flinch. Barely. “Jacobi. I’ve found the store room.”

“Oh. Is there –”

“From what I can see, there’s an entrance on your side, too, like we expected.” He pauses. “Surveillance says you’re only around the corner. Take the next left.”

“Yes, sir.” While he’s walking, still frequently glancing behind to make sure nobody appears behind, Jacobi asks, “Is anyone inside?”

Kepler clicks his tongue. “I have a limited visual, here – the window’s too small for me to see the whole room. Looks like it’s empty, but don’t take my word for it.”

Reaching the door a moment later, Jacobi peers through the small, circular window, spotting the Major on the other side of the room through the opposite door’s window. Kepler smiles at him, lifting a hand to wave. “Mine’s locked,” he says, lowering his hand. “Yours?”

Jacobi gently tries the handle. “Locked.”

“Alright. On my mark, kick the door in. Be prepared to shoot. Surveillance says nobody _should_ be inside, but we can’t be too careful.” Kepler pauses. Jacobi takes a deep breath and steps back. “Three. Two. _One_.”

Jacobi raises his foot and kicks the door at full force, hitting just underneath the lock, and the door splinters open in the exact same moment Kepler’s does the same. Pistol raised, aimed left, aimed right, aimed left again –

“Looks safe, Jacobi.”

The second Kepler lowers his gun, Jacobi copies him, holstering the weapon as he glances around the room. “No defences,” he says, unnecessarily. “That’s, like, a lot less than we were expecting.”

“I know. We might not be out of the fire just yet.” Kepler’s gun remains in his hand, though it hangs loosely at his side, now. “Get to work. Best not push our luck.”

“Right,” Jacobi replies, and he’s immediately heading towards the nearest set of drawers. Kepler heads for the lockers. Both of them begin rifling through the mass of documents they find, and, after a moment, Kepler places his gun on the countertop.

“Don’t forget,” Kepler starts, “we’re looking for the –”

“Tetrytol prototype,” Jacobi interrupts, not even looking up from where he’s flicking through various blueprints. It’s difficult not to take a moment to glance over them. “Oh. Sorry. Were you looking forward to telling me the sixteenth time?”

“You _are_ the expert here, Jacobi. But experts get distracted from mission objectives.”

“I’m – I’m not getting distracted.” He quickly puts down one interesting file on the measured results of explosives in outer space. “Like, at all. But on an entirely unrelated note,” he adds, “some of this stuff looks _pret_ -ty badass.”

Kepler ignores the comment. “Any key words to look out for? You know, just in case these blueprints haven’t been labelled _tetrytol prototype_.”

“Uh, yellow? Anything that talks about a seventy-thirty ratio? Melting point of a hundred and fifty-four degrees?”

“Fahrenheit?”

“Why – why _wouldn’t_ I be talking about Fahrenheit?”

There’s a brief pause. “That’s roughly… just under seventy degrees Celsius.”

“Sir, we _are_ in the United States –”

“—Searching for a project developed by _European_ scientists.”

_Oh_. Jacobi dislikes the way Kepler sounds when he says that – patronising, as though he’s explaining basic math to a child. _Two plus two equals four, Mr Jacobi. Not five_. It’s hardly the first time Jacobi’s heard that tone of voice, but he still feels somewhat guilty for disappointing Kepler nonetheless.

They work in silence after that, rifling through drawer after drawer after cupboard after locker to find the blueprints. Unfortunately, the room is far bigger than they expected, and it contains a _lot_ of information. The thought crosses Jacobi’s mind that they could grab everything and run, but he knows Goddard Futuristics is slicker than that. A bead of sweat rolls down his forehead.

That’s the biggest problem with being about three hundred flights below ground. Bad ventilation.

Only then, Jacobi finds something of interest. Not in a drawer or a cupboard or a locker, but in the wall. The entirety of the four walls of the room are covered in desks, storage facilities, overhead cupboards and, of course, the two doors they used to arrive. This corner, however, is completely bare.

Completely bare and, Jacobi notices, barely concealing a third door.

“Sir.”

Kepler turns. “You found the blueprints?”

Shaking his head, Jacobi beckons him over. “No, but I think I’m about to.” He pushes against the wall, sighing when the door doesn’t budge.

The Major takes several strides over to Jacobi’s position, nudging him aside to push against the wall himself. He then presses against the individual tiles, fingers digging into the corners insistently as Jacobi stands back and watches. A minute ticks by. Another minute joins it. Eventually, though, one knee leaning on the ground, Kepler pries the correct tile loose and finds the lock.

There’s no key, only a knob. Kepler twists it, and the door shifts ajar.

When Jacobi looks down – _up_ , as the man stands – at Kepler, he’s greeted with an easy smile. “Good job, Mr Jacobi,” he commends, and Jacobi feels his gut twist appreciatively at the praise.

The two men step inside the room, Kepler first, and find it to be far smaller. The door swings shut behind them automatically. Jacobi hears a tiny beep, but, after glancing around to no avail, he forgets about it.

“I wonder why Surveillance didn’t notice this place,” Kepler muses, already moving to the edge of the room to filter through the stacks of papers left on the countertop. “There was no mention of a secret room.”

“I think that’s why it’s a _secret_ room, sir,” Jacobi responds. He moves towards the large box in the middle of the table at the centre of the room. “Besides, it’s not like we – holy shit.”

“Jacobi?”

He doesn’t answer. He’s too busy staring at the contents of the box.

The softly-ticking mass of wires connected to a metal cube, connected to a large battery, connected to a remote detonator, connected to a timer.

The armed tetrytol prototype, currently flashing the figure _twelve minutes and eighteen seconds_ at him.

Jacobi stumbles back on instinct. The bomb looks so hazardously strapped together that it could explode if he so much as poked it. Kepler’s eyes flicker from the bomb to the ballistics expert. Jacobi knows this expression. He may not have known the Major for long, but a man like this is a man whose social cues need to be learned early on.

Speaking of social cues, something on Jacobi’s face must say _don’t you dare_ , because Kepler actually smirks. And completely ignores it.

“Mr Jacobi,” he starts, and this time Jacobi’s gut is twisting with fear, “please, take that thing apart. Quick as you like.”

He blinks. Swallows. Glances back inside the box, at the mess of wires, at the cube he wouldn’t even begin to know how to open, at the timer cheerfully ticking down second by second. “Sir,” he begins, voice slow so not to crack, “we have – eleven and a half minutes. That’s enough time to get back outside before this entire place blows to bits.”

“You don’t feel up to it?” Kepler asks lightly, as though he were suggesting they eat at the dodgy sushi restaurant down the road from their office, not gamble their lives on the off-chance he can dispose of a prototype bomb.

“It’s –” Jacobi hesitates. Clenches his fists. “I – sir, it’s the prototype. It’s completely unpredictable. I wouldn’t even know where to _start_ with it.”

Kepler pauses, taking this into consideration. Then he nods at Jacobi, and turns to the door. Jacobi relaxes minutely.

Though just as he turns to follow him, Kepler doesn’t pull the door open – he turns the dial and locks it shut.

Again, Jacobi blinks. Half a second later, the words forcing their way out of his mouth are, “What the hell are you – _are you out of your goddamn_ –”

“Go,” Kepler says firmly, “take that bomb apart.”

Jacobi stares at him. Then, his body moving before his brain catches up, he looks back at the timer. Just over ten minutes.

 

* * *

 

The table is covered in a tangled mess of wires, the cardboard box has been ripped to shreds, and Kepler’s switchblade lay on the surface after performing its makeshift duty as both a screwdriver and a wire cutter. The timer freezes on eighteen seconds.

Jacobi, for what feels like the first time in ten minutes, exhales. A hand presses against the table top to keep him upright. Knees trembling, breaths shaking, head bowed, he takes a moment to recover from the rush of adrenaline coursing through him.

A hand grips his shoulder tightly, the thumb rubbing soothing circles through his shirt into his skin. A fraction of the tension in his torso is released. Jacobi wonders if Kepler will say anything, but it seems his boss is as content to appreciate this moment in silence as he is.

Once he’s sure his voice won’t crack if he tries it, Jacobi says, “I should’ve left it another seventeen seconds to give you a real Bond movie ending.” The hot air that hits the side of his face at Kepler’s brief laugh is worth… well, all of it. Almost. “And you’re a _complete_ asshole, by the way.”

The Major hums in agreement. “Don’t talk to your superior officer like that,” he says after, but the words have no bite behind them.

Jacobi pushes off from the table, eventually, and turns to face Kepler. “Now what?” he asks. “Do we find the blueprints? _Are_ there any blueprints? I could’ve really used those while I was working.”

“Oh,” and Kepler nods to the desk in the corner, “I found them. About two minutes back. I was looking for them while you worked.”

Jacobi stares at him. Kepler grins.

“What?” he asks, a lilt of false innocence in his voice. “You seemed… preoccupied.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Wear a bell,” Jacobi mutters. “Or – don’t sneak up on me. It’s fucking scary.”  
> “You’re a trained SI5 agent.”  
> “You’re… _you_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please don't expect two chapters in one day on a regular basis

_Note: the music for this chapter is What Are We Standing In Line For Again I Also Don’t Remember Sorry But I’m Excited._

 

**Part 2 – 2012**

The courtyard actually looks rather pretty in the sunlight. Modern buildings of what Jacobi’s limited knowledge would call _architectural genius_ rise up on all four sides of the square, complete with more glass than bricks and the company logo inscribed in that dusty technique across the windows of the floors halfway up. The rays of sun catch the glass, allowing the entire area to glow faintly.

Most of this, Jacobi never sees. He stays in his basement lab with his co-workers, surfacing to buy lunch and use the bathroom (the basement has one, but the soap in there is lavender-scented; he prefers vanilla). He rarely stays upstairs for long periods of time – business meetings, weekly reports, briefings and debriefings when they’re necessary – but never regularly enough to see the courtyard in the day time. It’s that knowledge that led Sarah to kicking him out before he gets what she called _voluntary cabin fever_.

Jacobi is perched on the bench of a classic picnic table, now, the wrapper from his sandwich jammed between the slats of wood so it doesn’t blow away in the light breeze. His sunglasses are on, but from the heat of the day, he constantly has to push them up his nose from the thin sheen of sweat allowing them to slide down again and again. His Coca Cola, half full, sits in front of him, the straw jutting out of the top of the bottle.

“The one day,” a voice says behind him, and Jacobi jumps and spills his Coke, “the _one_ day I try to find you in your natural habitat, and Sarah tells me you’ve emerged from hibernation.”

Kepler lowers himself onto the bench opposite Jacobi while he recovers from the shock, and the Major is met with a glare. “Wear a bell,” Jacobi mutters. “Or – don’t sneak up on me. It’s fucking scary.”

“You’re a trained SI5 agent.”

“You’re… _you_.”

The corner of Kepler’s mouth twitches up into the barest hint of a smile. “Point taken.” As Jacobi returns to his Coke, sucking on the straw in what he hopes is a defiant manner – it’s not, because he’s just sucking on a straw – Kepler shifts to face him properly, as unnervingly upright as always. Jacobi feels the urge to straighten his own spine at the sight.

“As I was saying,” the Major resumes, “I happen to try and catch you on your lunch break… on the first day this year you haven’t eaten at your computer.”

Jacobi purses his lips. “I felt like a change?”

“Sarah forced you out. She told me herself.”

“Yeah, she forced me out. Said it wasn’t – you know, healthy. I need to _feel the breeze on my skin_ … _hear the birds singing… see a_. I dunno. A _leaf, falling majestically_.”

“It’s spring time. The leaves wouldn’t be falling.”

“You – you get what I mean.” Jacobi sighs. “Anyway, I said _screw you, I’m busy_ , so she pulled the Internet for the entire lower floor to kick me out.” He chuckles quietly. “Why’d you need me, anyway?”

Kepler regards him evenly. “I wanted to ask you on a date.”

Jacobi, elegantly, chokes on his Coca Cola. This seems to amuse the Major, who continues on, “I’ve been assigned a mission. A very different one to our normal work, I’ll admit, but having been asked to assemble my own team for the job, I couldn’t think of anybody I’d prefer to have with me.”

The words _Not An Actual Date_ are flashing in neon in Jacobi’s head, now, but the way Kepler is describing this is _not_ helping. “What’s the… um. What’s different, sir?” He prays his voice sounded normal enough.

Kepler hesitates. “I’d call it… partly a search and rescue mission, but partly a stakeout.”

“Stakeout and rescue?” Immediately, Jacobi is on his guard. “Where?”

He fully expects the answer to be something akin to _Somalia_ , or _the DRC_ , or perhaps _Libya_. To ask Kepler to be in charge of this instead of a more local official means it must be for an area with no permanent base for security reasons. However, Major Kepler doesn’t say _Somalia_ , or _the DRC_ , or even _Libya_. Major Kepler calmly replies with, “A Goddard Futuristics station about eight lightyears out.”

To which Jacobi replies, “Huh?”

Kepler waits for him to catch up.

“You’re… kidding, right.”

Again, the Major only seems amused. “Mr Jacobi, what do you think Goddard Futuristics _does_?”

“It –” Jacobi would much rather return to the topic of _going to outer space_ , but he plays by Kepler’s rules. Pushing his sunglasses from the bridge of his nose to rest atop his head, he answers hesitantly, “It’s a research company, sir.”

“Correct, Jacobi. It’s a research company. I understand you wouldn’t know the specifics – you’d hardly be _allowed_ to – but its research spans _many_ areas of development. Medicine. Theoretical physics. Psychology. Artificial intelligence. Genetic engineering. The list could go on for quite a while.” He pauses. “But Goddard Futuristics hasn’t made its name as an entirely unique research company by collecting data on medicine, theoretical physics, psychology, artificial intelligence or genetic engineering.”

“Sir?”

“Space, Jacobi. Goddard Futuristics is famous for its research into _space_.”

Jacobi knows where this is going. “Yes, sir, I know, but –”

“Good. I’m glad you know. It would have been a mistake on my part to hire you without you knowing the slightest information about this company’s primary function.” Kepler’s elbows press against the slatted table top. “So, Mr Jacobi, did it never occur to you that – by coming to work for a company whose research is in _space_ – you might actually be asked to take the trip up there yourself?”

“Sir, with all due respect,” Jacobi starts, “I work for _Strategic Intelligence_. And when I’m not working with you, I’m experimenting with _explosives_. None of that provides the kind of _transferable skills_ you need to go into outer space.”

Kepler shakes his head slightly. “On the contrary. It provides the exact skills needed.”

“And those are?”

“Whatever I want them to be.” Kepler seems almost disappointed, voice remaining as upbeat as ever but with an added intonation of mild frustration. “Do you really not want to go to space with me? It could be fun.”

“I –” Jacobi hesitates. “I never said I didn’t wanna go.”

The response is almost instantaneous. “Excellent.” Kepler stands to his feet, and Jacobi then realises the Major always expected him to agree to go. He doesn’t know whether to feel embarrassed or proud about that.

Kepler beckons him with a flick of his wrist. “Walk with me, Jacobi,” he says, and before Jacobi can understand what he’s doing, he’s rising up, grabbing his Coca Cola and forgetting completely about the sandwich wrapper stuffed in the slats of the wooden table. He follows Kepler’s direction, hurrying slightly to catch up to him.

“It’s best to have these conversations outside,” Kepler says, eyes meeting Jacobi’s for a brief second before he looks ahead to their path. “You never know who’s watching which security cameras when you’re indoors.”

Jacobi frowns slightly. Kepler continues, oblivious. “We leave in a week. My… _boss_ received a message from the medical officer of the station we’re headed to. Apparently, a couple of members of their crew have, unfortunately, been killed.”

“By a person?”

“By various factors, Mr Jacobi, but not directly by a crew member. You have to understand this is the most difficult environment to be in. Space wasn’t made for people.”

Jacobi nods. “Right. Yeah.”

“A contingency protocol was in place if this were to happen. The medical officer is valuable. The other members of the crew… _aren’t_. But, still, I am a pragmatic man, and to waste a well-trained crew because they aren’t of direct interest to the company would be sad.” Kepler pauses. “Our mission is to join them at the Hephaestus station, let the station’s doctor know we’ve arrived, and await his… analysis of the situation. Do you follow, Mr Jacobi?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Kepler turns to Jacobi, slowing to a halt in the middle of the path. Jacobi stops in his tracks. “It won’t be an easy mission. If the situation calls for it, we might be forced to leave members of the Hephaestus’ crew behind. I need to know you _will_ trust my judgement when the time comes.”

Unhesitant, Jacobi nods. “I will, sir.”

“If Dr Selberg is dead by the time we reach the Hephaestus, we’ll have to go in and dispose of the remaining crew ourselves.”

This surprises Jacobi, but in a muted way. He doesn’t feel any aversion to the suggestion. “Okay.”

“Regardless, you won’t need to meet him. In fact, it would be better for the both of you if you didn’t. This shouldn’t be difficult – he’s fairly reclusive and the journey’s only…” Kepler pauses, lips softly miming the number count. “…Around three months?”

“ _Three_ – what?”

Kepler raises his eyebrows. “Did you expect seven and a half lightyears to be a… weekend holiday, Mr Jacobi?”

Jacobi glares at him. “No, I just. _Three months_. That’s a long time. And another three months back?”

“And however long we have to spend on our little stakeout in the middle. You should be thankful, Jacobi. A handful of years ago, the same journey would have taken around three _years_.”

Jacobi takes a moment to mull this over. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, I’m in.”

Again, Kepler’s expression is that of a man who already knew this would be the answer, but he nods graciously nonetheless. “I’ll forward any details you need to know to your office. Any of your current projects should be transferred to whichever members of staff you feel would be most suited to work on them.” He claps a hand on Jacobi’s shoulder. “If it makes you more comfortable, I’ll have you know this is my first mission in outer space, too.”

“Really?” _But you seem so calm_.

Kepler lifts his shoulders in the slightest of shrugs. “It’s as you said, Mr Jacobi,” he replies. “Strategic Intelligence doesn’t have much business outside of Earth.”

With that, the Major turns, heading back towards the direction they just walked from. Jacobi is left alone in the middle of the pathway to contemplate what he just got himself into.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jacobi rolls onto his side. “Sir, if this is the _I regret everything we just did, we can’t speak of it ever again, you’re being transferred to a new department first thing tomorrow_ speech, can you at _least_ leave it until we’ve put our clothes on? You’re gonna kill the afterglow.”
> 
> “You didn’t strike me as the afterglow type,” replies Kepler.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i.......do Not know what to say to this. just as a warning, the tags have been updated. veeeery mild nsfw references in this chapter.

_Note: the music for this chapter is I Really Gotta Stop Getting Nostalgic During Our Fiscal Earnings Report (Particularly Fond Memories)._

**Part 3 – 2012**

Jacobi aches all over. It’s the best feeling in the world.

His breaths are still coming as pants, heavier, deeper than before, and his eyelids close against his will when he sinks back into the soft sheets beneath him. The fabric is slightly sticky, a victim of the sheen of sweat that coats his bare skin, but it doesn’t lessen his comfort. The pillow is warm, too, and he turns his head towards it to adjust himself and find a cooler patch to lay on.

The heavy weight on his torso disappears, and Jacobi’s eyelids twitch – but don’t quite open – as a quiet groan escapes his lips. “Come back,” he mumbles, feeling the mattress lift as the weight disappears from the bed altogether. Feet pad lightly across the floor, but before Jacobi can complain again, the weight returns, pushing back down on the mattress.

Jacobi cracks an eye open in time to see Kepler kneeling down between his still-spread legs, leaning forward to run featherlight fingertips over the various marks that pepper Jacobi’s throat, chest, and shoulders. Easily, Jacobi relaxes into the touch, eyes sliding shut again to focus on the sensation. The bites still throb pleasantly.

The fingers trail up his throat, over his jaw, and linger at his lips. “You’re loud,” Kepler tells him, and Jacobi has to open his eyes again to tell whether the comment is critical or approving. He still can’t tell.

Kepler leans down to his forearm, caging Jacobi in, moving his hand away from Jacobi’s mouth. The two men have the same idea and meet in the middle for a kiss, brief but sweet, sweeter than anything Jacobi knew could come from his boss.

“You’re… rough,” Jacobi replies hoarsely, which only adds to Kepler’s point. The Major’s lips curl into a smile.

“ _I’m_ rough?” he asks. “I think your nails drew blood from me.”

If Jacobi weren’t still entirely flushed, he thinks he might have turned pink then. The swift memory flashes across the forefront of his mind, clutching at Kepler, raking nails down his back, digging his fingers into the other man’s skin to relieve some of the immense pressure building inside him. As far as he can recall, the actions had only spurred the Major on.

He lifts a hand to press against Kepler’s back now, the skin still bare, and his fingers rub over the small welts he finds. _Whoops_.

Kepler moves off of him a moment later, lowering himself onto the mattress beside him, eyes lifting to stare at the ceiling. The two men stay quiet for a good couple of minutes.

“Jacobi,” Kepler says eventually, and then pauses. “Daniel.”

Jacobi rolls onto his side. “Sir, if this is the _I regret everything we just did, we can’t speak of it ever again, you’re being transferred to a new department first thing tomorrow_ speech, can you at _least_ leave it until we’ve put our clothes on? You’re gonna kill the afterglow.”

“You didn’t strike me as the afterglow type,” replies Kepler. His eyes are still trained on the ceiling. Jacobi’s heart sinks; that wasn’t a _no_ on the speech.

“What can I say,” remarks Jacobi, voice light. “I’m just a real sensitive guy like that.”

Kepler chuckles. The smile fades after a moment. “Jacobi, I have a decision for you to make.” His eyes flicker, now, from the ceiling, gaze landing back on Jacobi as he rolls slightly to face him. Both men, in unison, prop themselves up on one elbow.

“Sir?”

“Your first option is that we never – and I mean, _never_ – do this again. You and I forget this happened.” _Here it comes_. Jacobi nods stiffly, indicating that he understands, and Kepler continues. “Your second option,” he says, voice quieter and slower than usual, “is to… form a new arrangement. Between us.” For the first time, Jacobi sees Kepler looking genuinely discomforted.

“What’s the arrangement?” asks Jacobi, voice still slightly hoarse.

Kepler’s eyes gaze into his for a moment, cutting off the contact when he glances away. “We would maintain a strictly platonic attitude towards each other during work,” he instructs. “Nothing – _untoward_ can happen in the presence of any other Goddard Futuristics employees, nor in any company-owned building.”

Jacobi squints. “Why do I feel like you’re reading me the terms and conditions for a contract?”

“Daniel, you…” Kepler sighs. “I trust Mr Cutter. I follow his orders. No aspect of my life, right now, is kept secret from him.” There’s a beat of silence that hangs in the air between them. “He wouldn’t want this.”

“Would he fire you?”

“No, but that’s not to say he wouldn’t penalise me. You’d be laid off, perhaps, or moved to a laboratory the other side of the country.” Despite the seriousness of his words, something in Jacobi is flattered that Kepler sounds like he’d actually _care_ if that happened.

“Why?” he asks.

“Because I’m one of the most valuable assets Mr Cutter has, and he doesn’t need me getting… distracted.”

Jacobi looks at him – _really_ looks at him. Kepler’s eyes have turned back to the ceiling. “Sir,” he starts slowly, “you sound like this is the… is it…” Pause. “You sound like this has happened to you before.” He means to say it as a statement, but he can’t help but lift his voice in questioning at the end.

Kepler pauses for a long moment, before eventually replying, “No, Jacobi, it hasn’t.”

They both lay on their backs, looking up, for a while. Seconds tick into minutes. Both of them are lost in their own thoughts. Eventually, Kepler’s hand reaches out, encircling Jacobi’s wrist to tug him in. Jacobi rolls obediently towards him, mildly confused, before Kepler’s arm moves from his wrist to wrap around his shoulders.

Guided into place, Jacobi finds his head pillowed by Kepler’s chest, the spot beside the hollow of his throat. Kepler’s arm shifts from around his shoulders to rest his hand in Jacobi’s hair.

“Thought I was the afterglow one,” Jacobi remarks, and Kepler hums in agreement.

“I’m doing this for you,” he replies, humour lacing his tone. His eyes slip shut, and Jacobi’s follow, the desire to sleep catching up with them a good few minutes after their energy levels dropped.

Drowsily, Jacobi murmurs, “I wanna – we can do this. We can keep it a secret.”

Kepler shifts slightly at the comment. “You’re sure?”

_Like there was ever any doubt._ “Yeah. Besides, it gives me more reason to go on missions with you.” Jacobi opens his eyes and looks up, finding Kepler’s gaze already trained on him.

“Don’t think you’re getting any special treatment because of this, Mr Jacobi,” he tells him sternly, and Jacobi grins, ignoring the words to lean up and kiss him again. Kepler presses back slowly, deeply. Jacobi wonders how long it’s been since Kepler’s done anything like this. Broken the rules. Kept a secret from Cutter. Had sex.

Of the last one, he could ask the same question to himself.

Jacobi moves up, lifting himself above Kepler to kiss him properly. Lips press against lips, against skin, against anything they can find. Kepler’s hand rises, carefully, to rest against Jacobi’s waist, and Jacobi breaks away from the kiss long enough to catch his breath and swing a leg over Kepler’s hips. He straddles him, spine straight, Kepler sitting up to meet him there. His hand slides around from the side of Jacobi’s waist until his arm has curled around Jacobi entirely, tugging him closer, holding him closer.

Jacobi kisses feverishly, rashly, gracelessly, but Kepler slows him down, forcing him into a gentle routine, of pushing and pulling and easing delicately into the motions.

Jacobi has always been too impatient to draw his pleasure out. Kepler knows, and does it for him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kepler turns to face Jacobi. An untouched glass of champagne is balanced between his fingers, and when the Colonel sees the expression on his companion’s face, he offers the glass to him silently. Jacobi takes it, unhesitating, and lifts the glass to take a _long_ drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. can you tell i'm a politics student  
> 2\. these guys are Awful  
> 3\. i have never been to this summit and therefore have a rather limited idea of what actually happens when you go there  
> 4\. how am i writing this so quickly

_Note: the music for this chapter is Who Let the Manatee into the Dance Studio She’s Talented._

 

**Part 4 – 2013**

“And, well, long story short?” Kepler asks the group gathered around him, all listening intently, as Jacobi walks over. “That’s how I saved the world from global economic depression, and allowed the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom and the President of France to take credit for it.” At his words, appreciative murmurs travelled around the circle of people, most of them gazing at the Colonel in awe. Jacobi becomes level with Kepler as the crowd begins to dissipate; the undeniably fascinating story is over, and they have business to attend to, after all.

Kepler turns to face Jacobi. An untouched glass of champagne is balanced between his fingers, and when the Colonel sees the expression on his companion’s face, he offers the glass to him silently. Jacobi takes it, unhesitating, and lifts the glass to take a _long_ drink.

“Slow down, Mr Jacobi,” Kepler chides. “We have all night.”

Jacobi offers him a mild glare. “This is hell. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“You seemed quite deep in conversation with Secretary-General Ban Ki-moon, last I checked.” Something in Kepler’s tone is undoubtedly amused – perhaps even ready to make fun of him – but Jacobi’s focus is elsewhere.

“Deep in conversation?” Jacobi uses a somewhat hushed voice to avoid attracting attention from those around him. “ _He_ came up to _me_. He started asking me questions about the USA’s goddamn economic foreign policy, which I know nothing about, all – _congratulations on the re-election of your president, would I be right in saying the USA will maintain its position as a multilateral global financial contributor?_ ” He groans. “I said _yes_ , but I had no idea what was going on.”

The faint amusement twinkling in Kepler’s eyes is becoming far more pronounced. Jacobi pauses. “Wait, how did you know his name? Secretary-General of what?”

His boss still isn’t outright smiling, but Jacobi can tell he’s enjoying this, and he feels like he might need something stronger than a glass of champagne to get through the evening. “Secretary-General Ban Ki-moon. A wonderful man to get along with.” Kepler hesitates briefly. “His position is commonly referred to as the _head of the UN_.”

“The…” Jacobi definitely needs more alcohol. “The _United Nations_ UN?”

Kepler nods, and Jacobi drinks some more champagne. A lot more champagne. Before he can finish the glass, it’s being tugged from his lips, and he chases it for half a second before Kepler pulls the flute away altogether. “Relax, Mr Jacobi,” he says, guiding him out of the main fray of people with a hand pressed to the small of his back. The action makes Jacobi shiver slightly. “I promise, nobody here will remember you. This isn’t the sort of event where representatives of a TNC matter. This is the sort of event where _heads of state_ matter, and everybody else is invited out of courtesy, and we all pretend to listen and be listened to.”

Jacobi looks up at him. The vague crowd that populated the centre of the room is thinner over here, but Kepler still chooses to stand ever so slightly closer than usual. The hand drops from his back, and instead, the Colonel straightens Jacobi’s dress tie for him. “If Mr Cutter thought it would be worth his while to attend this event, he would attend it. He doesn’t care about the Davos Summit. He doesn’t particularly care about the World Economic Forum at all. But it’s only right that Goddard Futuristics should show its face – a diplomatic gesture of goodwill.”

Lower lip caught in his teeth, Jacobi takes the moment to glance around at the people surrounding them. “Still don’t get why he sent _me_. You’re good at this, but I have _no_ idea about anything to do with economics. I pay taxes, sir. That’s about it.” He pauses. “I don’t even know what taxes I’m paying. The bank figures that out _for_ me.”

“Cutter didn’t send you here. He sent _me_. I chose to bring you along.” Kepler isn’t looking at Jacobi when he says that, instead searching over the crowd. Jacobi wonders what, or who, he’s looking for. His eyes are still astray when he adds, “It would have been incredibly dull to come on my own.”

“Oh.” Jacobi feels oddly proud.

Kepler’s gaze returns to him, then, and a hand lifts up to nudge against Jacobi’s shoulder and turn him in the direction Kepler is facing. “You have to trust me when I say this,” he murmurs, leaning down slightly to allow Jacobi to hear his quietening voice, “but, Mr Jacobi, do you see that man? Blue tie. Talking to the lady with the red shoes.”

Jacobi nods. Kepler continues. “That man is the chancellor of an entire nation. A nation with a very prominent and proud economy. The lady he’s speaking with, the recently promoted CEO of a global banking firm.” The Colonel smirks. “He never even learned college-level economics. She was only promoted last year when her father, the former CEO, died. Neither of them know what they’re talking about, but they’d rather die than admit it. He has an entire team of economics graduates to tell him what to do, and she has enough money to hire every accountant in this hemisphere.”

“How…” Jacobi is somewhat in awe of his boss. “How do you know so much about these guys? Do you read up? Is there a Major – sorry, _Colonel_ Kepler Burn Book hidden under your bed?”

“I do my homework, Mr Jacobi, and I turn up to WEF summits with more knowledge of economics under my belt than that my bank does my taxes for me.”

“Okay, I refuse to be embarrassed by that. I bet loads of people suck at understanding basic taxes.” Jacobi glances around at the crowds of people, all beautifully dressed up, hair in place and smiles fixed. Jewellery hangs around every woman’s neck; sharp ties and pretty cufflinks adorn the men. He feels less at an international economic summit and more at an Oscars’ after-show party. When he says as much to Kepler, the Colonel raises his eyebrows.

“Why don’t we… try and find a few friends, hm?” It’s not a question. The hand is returning to the small of Jacobi’s back to press him gently but insistently onto a path. “There’s the king of Saudi Arabia,” Kepler says, voice low in Jacobi’s ear as he walks behind him despite being the leader. “And there’s… the man I was talking about in my story earlier. We should go this way.”

Nudging Jacobi onto a more favourable path, Kepler continues to point out famous people, journalists and presidents and celebrities and CEOs, all of whom Kepler has immaculate knowledge on. Jacobi eases into the atmosphere after that, talking to people, smiling politely, rolling his eyes once they’ve turned away. Eventually, the summit no longer feels like a chore. He doesn’t even notice when Kepler stops guiding him.

It’s when Jacobi finds himself on his third glass of champagne and chuckling far more than the congressman’s joke deserves that Kepler reappears at his shoulder, nodding to all the gentlemen present before pulling Jacobi away. Jacobi looks up at him, blinks, and says, “Hi.”

“I hate to pull you away from your fun,” Kepler drawls, his tone light, “but the evening is, unfortunately, drawing to a close. And since we aren’t staying for the actual event…” At Jacobi’s face, he arches an eyebrow. “Do you want to listen to a two-hour seminar on… I believe it was _strengthening societal resilience_?”

“God, no.” Jacobi pauses. “You mean it’s not all just parties?”

Kepler stares at him for a brief moment. Jacobi feels like the Colonel is disappointed in him. Jacobi also feels like he’s disappointed in himself, so at least they can bond over this. “No, Jacobi,” Kepler answers steadily, “it’s not all just parties. And our flight leaves fairly early tomorrow, so if you’d like to…”

Sentence trailing off, Kepler makes a sweeping gesture in the direction of the door. Jacobi blinks. “We can’t stick around for a little longer?” he asks, trying and failing to keep the dissatisfaction from edging into his voice.

The corners of Kepler’s mouth lift into a hint of a smile. “Well,” he starts, “I suppose you have some options.”

“I hate options.”

“You _could_ ,” and now Kepler’s leaning in, close, very close, _obscenely_ close, “stay here all night, talk to the rich and powerful, make idle conversation and pretend to know about your own taxes.” They’re close enough that Jacobi can feel the breath on his face. He swallows. His cheeks are heating up from the proximity alone. “Or,” Kepler continues, voice low, somehow private in a room of thousands of people, “we can excuse ourselves from this party, take an early night, and… _maybe_ make use of the hotel room provided for us, courtesy of company expenses.” There’s a pause. Jacobi is trying to think about something other than how Kepler’s mouth is only mere inches away. Any differing thought, however, is based around how much Jacobi wants to kiss it.

The question hangs in the air for a long moment. “Your tie is rather soft, Mr Jacobi,” Kepler says, his voice so quiet it barely hums above a whisper. Jacobi blinks confusedly at him. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Um.” He blinks again. “Yes, sir.”

“Perfect material for me to use to tie your hands to the bed frame, I’d say.”

If his cheeks didn’t heat up before, they are reddening now. “Yes. Sir.”

“Or perhaps even a gag to push between your lips. After all, Jacobi, we wouldn’t want any esteemed guests to overhear the sorts of things that spill out of your mouth in… certain circumstances.”

“Bedroom,” Jacobi mutters, a spike of arousal running through his core. “Hotel. Leaving. Whatever, god, just – _please_.”

With a barely-there smug smirk, the Colonel turns away from Jacobi, heading for the exit. Jacobi almost trips over his own feet in his haste to follow.

It’s going to be a long night.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kepler regards him evenly, paper lowering to the desk as he clasps his hands together. “I called you in here, Jacobi, because there’s something I need you to do for me.” He pauses. Jacobi waits for him to continue. “I need you to die.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aight.....the penultimate chapter......also known as "kepler is a dramatic hoe"  
> kudos + comments are massively appreciated thank you guys for being so supportive <3

_Note: the music for this chapter is Positive Reinforcement Only in Moderation Please Lest We Get Carried Away._

**Part 5 – 2013**

“Special Operative Daniel Jacobi Jr. was an incredibly talented mathematician, engineer, and technician,” Kepler tells Jacobi, eyes skimming along the sheet of paper in his hand. “Son of Melissa Phelps and Daniel Jacobi Sr., Daniel was also a beloved brother, and a loyal friend to those he grew up with in Milwaukee and those he continued to meet in later life.”

Jacobi’s pulling a face. Kepler should read it to mean, _I don’t know what’s going on, but this is kind of funny, but I still have no idea what’s going on_.

“Daniel graduated from MIT,” Kepler continues, “and was immediately sought out by the Air Force’s orbital ballistics department, to which he spent three years in Research and Development.” Pausing briefly, Kepler’s eyes flicker up to meet Jacobi’s. He sees the face Jacobi’s pulling, and then continues to read. “Daniel’s gift for understanding mechanics was later picked up by Goddard Futuristics, who employed him from 2011 until his tragic demise. He leaves behind a department that will sorely miss both his incredible talents and his wonderful personality. Daniel died aged thirty-one.”

The two men sit in silence for a long moment, facing each other over Kepler’s desk, both waiting for the other to talk. Jacobi breaks the silence. “I don’t think I’ve heard anyone call me Daniel that much in the last, what, eight years?” After a moment, he adds, “Also, _wonderful personality_? I’m flattered, sir.”

Kepler regards him evenly, paper lowering to the desk as he clasps his hands together. “I called you in here, Jacobi, because there’s something I need you to do for me.” He pauses. Jacobi waits for him to continue. “I need you to die.”

“What?”

“I think it’s every man’s wish to be able to read his own obituary, so I granted you that courtesy first.” Kepler slides it across the table to Jacobi, who ignores it altogether and continues to stare at his boss. “It’s a good read. I only paraphrased it for you.”

A beat hangs in the air between them, before Jacobi asks flatly, “What is this.”

“New orders from the Executives!” Kepler replies cheerfully. “Or, the Executive. There _is_ only one.” He opens a drawer, now, eyes flickering to look behind his desk, but he keeps talking. “Mr Cutter would like certain SI5 agents to be… well, wiped off the legal map. It creates far too many problems when real people, _living_ people, are going around and causing such… chaos.”

He lifts a file from the drawer, and places it in front of himself, opening the document to its first page. “You sign this dotted line, Mr Jacobi, and your life, as far as the rest of the world sees you, will be over. Your family won’t know. Your former friends won’t know. Anybody outside of Goddard Futuristics and its confidentiality clause will not be allowed to know Daniel Jacobi is alive.”

“You can do that,” Jacobi says, doubtful. It isn’t a question, but it should have been.

Kepler nods easily. “In case you were wondering, you died in one of your own detonation experiments. Unauthorised, of course. Goddard Futuristics had nothing to do with it.” Dropping a pen onto the document, he turns it around to face Jacobi, and that, too, is slid across the desk. Jacobi reaches for it out of instinct to pull it closer.

“Are you dying, too?” he asks, eyes lifting to meet Kepler’s across the desk.

“No,” the Colonel replies. “It wouldn’t work for the head of a department. Something like that would get noticed. But for an unregistered employee here or there, staying under the radar should be simple enough.” Kepler sits back in his chair. “It’s an experimental program, Mr Jacobi, but I was under the impression you rather enjoyed experimenting.”

“You’re hilarious.”

“I try my best.”

Jacobi’s eyes glance down to the document in front of him. Curious, he asks, “What happens if I say no?”

“You’d be dismissed of your duties as an SI5 agent,” Kepler answers, unperturbed, “and you’d be free to go.” He sits upright again, his gaze never straying from Jacobi’s. “However, I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ve already picked up the pen.” The Colonel gestures to Jacobi’s hand, a quietly satisfied smirk curving the corners of his mouth. Jacobi looks down, mildly surprised; he didn’t even notice himself taking it.

But Kepler’s right – it won’t be a problem. He tugs the paper closer, flicking past endless paragraphs of small print he’s sure one of their hundreds of lawyers spent _hours_ delicately assembling, until he finds the dotted line at the end.

With one last glance to Kepler, Jacobi presses pen to paper, and signs his name.

“Congratulations, Jacobi,” Kepler says, pulling the document back to him and closing it. “You are… officially dead.”

Jacobi smirks. “Guess this kinda ruins my plans for taking an early retirement with Goddard Futuristics’ generous pension fund, huh.”

“I’m sorry to say you might be right about that,” replies Kepler, as Jacobi instead pulls his obituary closer. “Feel free to take that with you,” Kepler adds, watching him. “Your death will be staged in a few hours. This should print in local newspapers sometime next week.”

“Can I go to my own funeral?”

“No.” Kepler pauses, thoughtful. “But I might go.”

At this, Jacobi grins. “Cry for me while you’re there. And take notes if anyone else does. Would Maxwell go?” _Wait_. “Is Maxwell legally dead, too?”

Again, Kepler replies, “No,” before adding, “a ballistics expert and valued member of our _corporate sabotage_ team is far more likely to leave a paper trail than an AI developer.”

“Damn.” His focus returns to the lengthier version of his obituary – Kepler was right, he did paraphrase – and he snorts when he reaches the end. “Whoever wrote this pretty graciously left out my years of abject depression and unemployment.”

“Your obituary is supposed to record your achievements, Jacobi, not the lowest moments of your life.” Jacobi can hear the amusement laced into the Colonel’s words, nonetheless.

He folds the obituary in half to tuck into his pocket. “Hey. I achieved stuff during that time.”

“Like what.”

“Like…” Jacobi pauses. “Wait, I’m pretty sure you still respect me as a half-decent guy, so I’m not gonna answer that.”

Kepler chuckles, and stands up. “I have other business to attend to today,” he tells Jacobi, picking up his jacket from the back of his chair. Jacobi stands, too. “You were the first of quite a few agents I have to track down to sign an equally intimidating contract.”

“Intimidating?” Jacobi tries leaning against the edge of the desk, casually, as Kepler makes his way around. “I wasn’t scared.”

“I know,” the Colonel replies, “and I like that about you. But to give a company ownership of your entire life is still quite a… large idea to process.”

“Ownership?” Jacobi scoffs. “You don’t _own_ me.”

Patiently, Kepler responds, “Yes, Daniel, I do.” He turns back to look at Jacobi, briefly, and between them the two men know what they both want Kepler to say. _I already did_.

Kepler’s firm gaze quells any retort on Jacobi’s tongue. After a moment, the Colonel turns, and strides promptly out of the room. “You can show yourself out, Mr Jacobi,” he calls over his shoulder. The contract’s file – and Jacobi’s life – is tucked under his arm when he leaves.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They stare at each other for a long moment, the silence stretching out and blanketing the hum of the engine beneath them. The lighting in this room, like every other room, is dim; half of the in-built circuitry flickered and died about an hour back, likely because of Hera’s transfer. Kepler’s face is cast in shadow, lit eerily in the pale blue illumination filtering through the window from the star.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you!!!!!!! for reading up to here!!!!!!! this is the likely disappointing finale ft eiffel

_Note: the music for this chapter is Remember When We Used to Pretend to Have Direction._

 

**Part 6 – 2016**

At the sound of the door grinding open, Jacobi looks up. Eiffel is hovering in the doorway.

“Well?” asks Jacobi after a moment. “Do you need me to _invite_ you in?”

Eiffel hesitates visibly before moving inside, pushing the door shut behind him with a similarly harsh sound. The way Jacobi is tied up leaves him facing the door whether he wants to or not, and so he watches Eiffel’s movements – they’re slower, heavier than before. This isn’t the first time he’s noticed, though.

“The Urania’s finished,” Eiffel says, eventually. Even his voice sounds heavier. “You know… fixed up. Ready for… lift off.”

Jacobi raises his eyebrows fractionally. It’s difficult to sound entirely disinterested in news like that. “Didn’t think you’d pull it off.”

“I had a good team with me.” A slight hint of a smile creeps into his voice. “All the girls know what they’re doing. Minkowski’s smart, Hera’s, like, digitally analysed every manual that’s ever been written on spaceship engineering, and Lovelace has – well. She’s already built one. And this one isn’t even from scratch, it was just… pushing things back together.” Pause. “Meanwhile, I had the vital job of handing out screwdrivers, and. Not touching anything that looks important.”

Jacobi huffs a humourless laugh. Eiffel continues. “Anyway, I think Hera’s about to start transferring her systems across. Which means…” He doesn’t have to say it. Jacobi already knows what that means. “We’re looking to leave, um, tomorrow.”

“Who’s we?” asks Jacobi, and it seems to be the exact question Eiffel doesn’t want to answer. He immediately glances away, but Jacobi presses on. “Is Lovelace going?”

Eiffel seems to hunch over, defensive. “Yes, Lovelace is going. We’re not leaving her behind.”

“Even though she’s –”

“She’s human,” he snaps, and sighs. “Well – she’s not, that much is obvious, but she’s… a _person_. For what it’s worth, she’s as human as I am. As Minkowski is. As _you_ are.” He pushes away from the door, floating in the middle of the room. Jacobi stares at him and says nothing. After a moment, Eiffel says quietly, “There’s a seat for you on the Urania. If you want it.”

This surprises Jacobi, mildly, but his face remains stoic. “What about Kepler?”

“I…” Eiffel looks uncomfortable. “I don’t know.”

“Well, then, neither do I.”

“What?”

Jacobi straightens his spine. His eyes are fixed unflinchingly on Eiffel. “I’m going where he’s going. If he gets a place on the Urania, then I’ll go. If he doesn’t… I won’t.” Eiffel looks like he’s about to interrupt, but Jacobi carries on. “What was it you and Minkowski said? _Either no one else dies, or we all do._ It was a good line. I’m stealing it.”

The deep discomfort in Eiffel’s eyes is becoming more pronounced by the second. “Why?” he asks. “Why are you, you know… He’s not your commander anymore. You don’t have to do this.”

“Why don’t you just bring him with us, then?” Jacobi raises his eyebrows again. “That sorts out the problem. Not to mention, I know you – you’re gonna have _such_ a guilty conscience if you leave us behind.”

The station creaks ominously. “It’s not that simple,” replies Eiffel exasperatedly. “He killed a member of our crew.”

“So did I,” Jacobi responds, his tone empty of emotion. “So did Minkowski.”

“That’s different. He – he _started_ it!” Eiffel groans out loud at how childish it sounds. “ _He_ was the commander, _he_ authorised the violence, _he_ took the first shot and – and we have to figure out if we can trust him enough to bring him with us. And it sucks.”

Jacobi remains unmoved. “Boo hoo,” he says, monotonous.

“You… really wouldn’t come with us without him?”

Fingernails tapping impatiently against his handcuffs, Jacobi shakes his head once. “I’ve known him for a long time, Eiffel. Longer than I’ve known – than I _knew_ Maxwell. I can’t leave him here alone to die.” There’s a brief pause, and he feels like he ought to explain, but he doesn’t owe it to Eiffel. He doesn’t owe it to anyone.

The communications officer looks disturbed. “When Hera’s finished downloading,” he says, “the station’s going to switch to manual controls. That – a crew of two could barely hold the fort down, and that was before the star turned blue, before the contact events, and before the Hephaestus got its spinal cord ripped out and structural stability dropped to the minus numbers.”

“I know,” says Jacobi.

“Even if we left you uncuffed, free to steer, and move, and fix stuff… with the engines failing and the controls on manual, you’ll fall into the star in – _hours_.”

“I know,” Jacobi repeats. “Also, did you copy that word for word from Minkowski?”

“I –” Eiffel stops. “How did you hear that conversation.”

Something akin to a smile twists Jacobi’s lips. “I didn’t. It just sounded way too intelligent for you, and I make good guesses.” His expression falls flat a moment later, and he looks down at his knees. The comms system crackles to life.

“Beginning MX500 data transfer from the U.S.S. Hephaestus to the U.S.S. Urania,” Hera warns, though the voice sounds too stilted to be _Hera_. It’s the automated voice integrated with station commands.

Eiffel glances at the door. He doesn’t turn back to Jacobi. “I should go – make sure everything’s okay in the AI department,” he says awkwardly, and Jacobi watches him push himself slowly to the exit.

“You know how you’re gonna get the biometric locks to work without Kepler?” Jacobi asks, partly digging, partly genuinely curious. Eiffel pauses.

“No. Lovelace thinks we can hack it. Hera reckons she could change the systems once she’s downloaded. Minkowski…” He sighs, and wipes a hand over his face. “Made the point that we need his DNA, not _him_.”

“And you?” Jacobi asks. “Where did your vote fall?”

For a long moment, the only sound in the room is the distant humming of the station’s engine, and the crackle of the overhead speakers. Eiffel eventually breaks the quiet. “Bringing him with us.”

 

* * *

 

Minkowski moves Jacobi when he asks her to. At his request, she even cuffs his hands in front of him, to ease up on the stretch of his shoulders. Something about her seems quieter when the two of them are alone, and he realises, with an inexplicable emotion twisting his gut at the thought, that she feels guilty. She regrets what happened to Maxwell.

On a better day, it would have been incredible leverage. On a better day, it would have been a psychological gift basket for him to use to manipulate her. Today, it means nothing. He’s too tired to even try. After his conversation with Eiffel, yesterday, his mind has been stuck in the entirely unprofessional loop of _whatever happens, happens_.

When she leaves him, door closing with an unforgiving grind and click, he stares at Kepler for a few seconds from the doorway. The Colonel looks as vengefully chipper as always.

“They talk to you?” Jacobi asks to break the silence, and Kepler nods, once.

“I had the pleasure of being updated by Captain Lovelace,” he replies, tone amused. Jacobi wonders how he can still sound like he doesn’t give a damn in the world. “Though I understand they sent you Officer Eiffel. Must’ve been a far more… _pleasant_ chat.”

Jacobi swallows. “Yeah. Probably.” And then, for reasons that escape him, he adds, “He asked me if I wanted to go with them.”

A slightly uneasy silence hovers between them for a moment. The Hephaestus shudders.

“I see,” Kepler says, eventually, far slower than his usually-slow voice. It’s as though he’s taking the care to handpick every syllable. “I suppose… this is a goodbye, then.”

“What?” Jacobi pauses. “No, I – I might’ve changed his mind.” Kepler clearly doesn’t follow, and Jacobi raises both his hands – cuffed together – to push his hair out of his eyes. “I told him I’m not going if you’re not going,” he explains, “so he could—”

Interrupting, Kepler asks, “You did. What?” His voice sounds mild. The glare being offered to Jacobi is less mild.

“I told him we’re going together or not at all,” Jacobi repeats, slightly less confident. “So he’d think twice about leaving us.” Pushing away from the door, awkwardly, Jacobi moves a few feet closer to Kepler. “If it works… _woo hoo_ , we’re saved.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

Jacobi swallows again. “Then we die.”

The muscle in Kepler’s jaw twitches. “It’s a ridiculous risk. Tell Eiffel you’re going with him.”

The Hephaestus creaks again. They both glance up. Hera’s download must almost be complete – it’s been running for hours. Looking back at Kepler, Jacobi presses the edges of his fingers against the cold metal of his cuffs, and replies, “No.”

“Excuse me?”

“Look, I –” Jacobi really did not want to have this conversation. “I don’t know much about what it’s like to face imminent death in the middle of space alone, sir, but my alien doppelganger sure did, so I’m counting that as experience on my behalf. And it sounded like it – kind of _sucked_. At least if _we’re_ facing imminent death in the middle of space, we don’t have to do it _alone_. Okay?”

Kepler’s glare doesn’t soften. “Jacobi, this is a direct order from your commander. Get. On. That ship.”

With a deep breath, Jacobi responds, “Eiffel actually made a pretty good point earlier. You’re _not_ my commander, anymore.”

He can see Kepler’s jaw tightening, imagining his fists clenched where they’re chained behind his back, and a weak self-satisfaction takes root inside his chest. It’s been so long since the Colonel showed any real emotion around him. Still, the feeling is overtaken by the far more pressing issue, and it seems Kepler agrees. “Jacobi,” he starts, voice hard, teeth gritted. But he hesitates.

And, in a much calmer voice, a moment later, he continues. “This? Is bigger than us. It’s bigger than whatever assumedly intimidating ending I am about to meet. It’s bigger than any gesture you clearly want to make. Our ship has been hijacked by two imbeciles and an AI that fully intend to transport a thing they know nothing about back to Earth, where it can blend into society as though it weren’t a dangerous and unpredictable _outsider_. Captain Lovelace, at this moment, is one of the single greatest threats our planet faces, and she will be for every second Minkowski and Eiffel allow her on the Urania. Goddard Futuristics needs you on that ship.”

“No, sir,” Jacobi challenges, “Goddard Futuristics needs _you_ on that ship. I can’t do what you need me to do. Not alone.”

Kepler sighs. “Jacobi, you’re being unreasonable.”

“Yeah, well, I’m like that. _Loose cannon_ Jacobi.” Again, he pushes himself closer, hovering in the zero-gravity with his hair drifting back into his eyes. “Sir, we fucked up. You know it. I know it. But if the Urania leaves the Hephaestus, Cutter’s gonna get notified.” He pauses. “And if he gets no warning from us, he’s gonna know whatever’s happening is _bad_. I don’t have to be there to tell him anything. You know that.”

They stare at each other for a long moment, the silence stretching out and blanketing the hum of the engine beneath them. The lighting in this room, like every other room, is dim; half of the in-built circuitry flickered and died about an hour back, likely because of Hera’s transfer. Kepler’s face is cast in shadow, lit eerily in the pale blue illumination filtering through the window from the star.

“I hope your interest in staying behind isn’t the product of some misplaced loyalty towards me,” Kepler says eventually. His lips press together in a straight line.

Jacobi’s eyebrows draw together slightly. “Misplaced?”

“Your duty,” Kepler tells him rigidly, “is to uphold the values of the company and to put it first. I was only ever here to make sure you did that.” He pauses. “You’re staying behind for me, not for Goddard Futuristics. It’s a mistake. I shouldn’t have let you get attached to –”

“Sir,” Jacobi interrupts, “don’t.” His lips twist indignantly. “That wasn’t a _mistake_.” Kepler looks up at him, from his position tied to the ground, and his gaze holds some sort of warning but Jacobi’s tired of dancing around the subject. “Colonel, we’re either about to fall into the star or go back to Earth, but either way, I’m pretty sure we can kiss our jobs goodbye. Maybe even our _lives_. I think we’ve passed the point where talking about having sex behind the scenes warrants disciplinary action.”

Again, there is something callously enjoyable about seeing Kepler’s intense discomfort. The Colonel averts Jacobi’s gaze for a brief moment, glancing aside as though he expected Cutter himself to appear, before…

He gives a dry chuckle. “Yes,” Kepler murmurs, and his eyes are back on Jacobi, warmer, softer. “I suppose you’re right.”

A weight lifts off of Jacobi’s chest. “No way in hell you can call it a mistake,” he says, both hands pressing against the room’s low ceiling. “It was some pretty great sex.” His heart jumps slightly at Kepler’s smile.

“Mr Jacobi,” the Colonel responds, “I think it was a little more than that.”

Jacobi blinks. And pauses. And stares. And, eventually, understands.

He pushes himself down to meet Kepler on the ground, kneeling, fumbling, Kepler’s legs tightening marginally to anchor him in place. They both lean into it, but Jacobi is the one that presses forward properly, insistent, catching Kepler’s lips and cupping his face with both his cuffed hands, one on either cheek. They hold Kepler in place, thumbs brushing lightly over cheekbones and palms pressing firmly against the sharp cut of his jaw.

It’s been over a year since they last kissed. Ever since the Hephaestus mission began, their rule stuck firmly: no contact. There were bigger things to think about and the station could have been under surveillance in ways even Kepler wasn’t aware of. It was always too much of a risk.

But here they are, bathed in blue light, facing what will either be an inescapable death or a change in their lives like nothing has changed them before – staring at the star as it burns them alive, or hostages on their own ship. Right now, though, that doesn’t matter. None of that matters. Jacobi is kissing Kepler, and regardless of which way their fates swing in the following hours, he would be happy to stay doing so for as long as the universe will allow him.

Breaths trapped in the small space between their mouths, the two men lock eyes, and a slightly lopsided smirk curves Kepler’s lips. “We go down together?” he asks lowly, a couple of stray hairs escaping his perfectly gelled coiffure, eyes bright with something akin to mischief.

Jacobi nods, mockingly solemn. “Sir, yes, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think ao3 puts end notes from the first chapter at the end of every chapter but just in case it doesn't i'mma say: hit me up on tumblr @aihera. pls let me know if you liked this!! i'm sorry for the ambiguous Will They Die Or Not ending but i suck at endings so. <3 thanks for reading

**Author's Note:**

> find me @aihera on tumblr! hope you enjoyed <3


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